


Words

by SegaBarrett



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:30:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse thinks he has a fetish, but he's not sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Breaking Bad, and I make no money from this. 
> 
> Written for kink-bingo, "verbal humiliation".

Jesse supposes he should be thankful for small favors. Ever since the day he’d put a gun to Mr. White’s head and threatened to kill him, the man’s been surprisingly nice to him. Hell, he’s even complimented him, even said “thank you” to him.

He wishes he knew why it feels so weird, so uncomfortable, like a pair of sneakers he hasn’t broken in yet and which keep picking up rocks somehow. Every time Mr. White says something nice, Jesse just wants to cock his head to the side and ask if he’s playing a joke or something. Or maybe it’s some sort of weird social experiment.

Either way, it’s not what Jesse is used to, and he has come to rely on the usual, the familiar, to get him through his day. Even when the usual sucked ass. And the usual, as far as Mr. White was concerned, consisted of him calling Jesse every name in the book.

Maybe that’s why Jesse is lingering, moments after they’ve finished packing up the most recent cook, and looking at Mr. White as if he wants to say something, wants to make some kind of request that he cannot quite force out of his mouth. 

“Is everything okay, Jesse?” Mr. White inquires. Jesse’s mouth is dry. He tries to wet it, moves his tongue around in his mouth.

“Do you wanna, uh, do something?”

But this time he doesn’t mean go-karts. He means something very different and he desperately hopes that Mr. White won’t force him to spell it out.  
Even as understanding dawns on the older man’s face, however, he does.

“Like what?”

“Like…” Jesse stammers. It’s been a week since he broke up with Andrea. He needs something. Something from Mr. White, the person who put him in this situation. “Like something together. At my house.”

“Are you asking if I want to have sex with you, Jesse?” Mr. White inquires, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah,” Jesse mumbles, and he’s sure that he’s going to hear it now, but Mr. White just shrugs, as if with the sense that it could be worse, and leads the way back to his car.

“I’ll meet you at yours.”

***

Jesse wants to kick himself. He can’t believe he actually said that to Mr. White. How stupid could he be? Whenever the other man got there, he was going to laugh in Jesse’s face, he was sure of it.

The doorbell rings, and he slowly walks over to let Mr. White in.

“Hey, Jesse,” the other man says, in a strange calm. “You still want to do this?”

“Yeah,” Jesse mumbles, “Come in.” He leads the way to his futon and sits, swallowing. “This is all… I…” He pauses. He doesn’t know how to say or even think what he wants to say, but finally it comes out. “I want you to call me names again… while we do it. But… but just then.” Mr. White’s eyes look as if they’re about to pop out of his head.

“Let me get this straight, Jesse.” The older man gives him a side-eye type of look. “You don’t like me calling you names – but you want me to fuck you while doing so.”  
Jesse can’t look up. His eyes are on his lap, which is a bad place for them to be, because he was noticing his hard-on more and more.

“Yeah,” he replied. “So. You in?”

Mr. White shrugs.

“If you are. You’re the one who has the harder part of the deal, so to speak. You’ll need to trust me.”

“I already do.”

Jesse doesn’t intend for the words to come out. They just do.

Mr. White throws up his hands.

“All right. Well, you’re the one asking for it. Get your clothes off.”

Jesse goes about doing so, pulling off his shirt and then unbuttoning his jeans, awkwardly kicking them off as he realizes he’s trembling a little bit with nervousness. What is this going to be like? Will it hurt? Will it be the hottest thing ever? More importantly, will it somehow fill that hole that seemed to be constantly growing inside him recently? He needs to know.

“Now,” Mr. White instructs, “Go get some lube. Somehow I don’t think you want me to try and do this without.” Jesse nods, eagerly, and rushes up the stairs to the bathroom, returning with a tube. In his short absence, Mr. White has stripped down to his underwear as well. 

Jesse hands him the tube with a shaking hand. 

“All right. Sit down here,” Mr. White taps the futon. “And open your legs.” Jesse follows the instructions to the T, and the older man takes a seat on the floor in front of him. “Lean back – now that’s right.”

He starts to lube up his fingers and seems to remember his part in all this.

“Now, Jesse, let’s see if you can do this right.” It seems to come awkwardly at first, as if he’s not really sure about saying these things on purpose, instead of in the heat of anger. He leans forward, slides the first finger inside and when Jesse clenches, he barks. “Do this for me, Jesse,” he insists, “Just relax – not that hard. You can do it. Come on. Even you can do this.” Jesse hitches his breath, hating himself for getting turned on by this, but relaxes nonetheless. 

Jesse feels Mr. White’s finger inside him, moving around, and he shifts against it, focusing less on it and more in the fact that it seems that much more difficult to get air to go into his lungs. Before Jesse’s quite ready for it, Mr. White adds a second, and he lets out a little moan of complaint.

“Quit whining, Jesse. Don’t be such a baby. I thought what we were adults here, having sex. Apparently not.” It’s coming easier to Mr. White now, either that or he’s just getting better at putting it on. Or maybe he really thinks all these things. Jesse doesn’t know, but he’s reveling in it, and feeling so fucked up that he is. Why does he need this?

He’s distracted from the whole thought process by a third finger, and it’s definitely overwhelming now and part of him just wants to stop. But if he said so, would Mr. White think he was still just playing? Or would he stop? Does Jesse _really_ want to stop? And so he says nothing, because he can’t decide. Instead he simply rocks uncomfortably on the fingers, waiting for it to feel better. People wouldn’t do it if they didn’t, he reminds himself.

“Mr. White… Wait,” he murmured, “Just give me a second.”

“I’m sorry,” Mr. White snarled, “Am I going too fast for you? Should I slow down and let this take a few hours? Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that this was too difficult for you, too.” He withdrew the fingers and Jesse wished that they’d come up with some kind of word to stop the action. However, he knows that if he really needed Mr. White to stop, he could make him understand. The older man would see it in his eyes; he can read Jesse by now. He climbs on top of the futon, too, and maneuvers Jesse so the younger man’s on his stomach. 

He can hear Mr. White slathering his cock with lube as Jesse’s eyes start to go a bit fuzzy. It’s as if he is drunk; he isn’t seeing anything clearly. He holds out a hand and touches Mr. White, assures himself that he’s there, and to his surprise the older man doesn’t question it. It may be, however, only because he’s too busy lining himself up and pushing in. He’s inside before Jesse really gets a chance to mentally or physically prepare for it, and he lets out a little grunt of protest before trying to relax.

The older man grabs a hold of Jesse’s hips. 

“Stay still,” he tells him, but a hint of care drops into the command this time. “It’s okay. Just relax.”

Jesse’s head is spinning. Mr. White’s lips graze his neck and he forgets about his earlier request. He doesn’t care what Mr. White says, now, whether he insults him or praises him. He just wants him here, and close, and inside, even though it’s like he’s been forced apart and his body can’t quite accommodate. He tries to relax, and Mr. White doesn’t move, not yet, just stays inside.

Then, before Jesse is quite ready, he starts to move. It’s slow, though, and Mr. White is murmuring nonsense to him. Soft nonsense, in his ear, quiet and soft. Jesse isn’t sure if he likes this better, or if he just wants things back how they used to be, power imbalance and all. He wonders if he wants this partnership at all. Maybe it’s just too complicated.  
Those thoughts are brushed out of his head, however, by a rush of pleasure that starts at Jesse’s ass and spikes up his body like an electric shock. He moans.

“Oh-God-Mr.-White,” he gasps out. It’s almost too much. Almost.

There’s a hand around his cock, now, Mr. White’s big, firm hand, strong and firm and tightening as it starts to stroke. He wishes he could turn and kiss Mr. White but can’t in this position; it’s enough effort just to keep himself slightly braced up and off the futon. The older man’s weight presses against him but it’s a comfort, not a burden, even though his hands are starting to ache from holding them both up.

And then he loses it when he feels himself come hard, long before he was expecting. He slumps against the futon and Mr. White collapses against him; he can feel the older man release inside him and it’s hot and uncomfortable, but somehow welcome.

They don’t move for a long time, or at least it seems that way. Then the first thing Jesse’s conscious of is a little kiss against his shoulder from Mr. White.

The older man rises.

“You and me, Jesse,” he tells him, “That’s all either of us have.”

Before Jesse can ask him to qualify, to explain what he means, the man is gone, and the sound of Jesse’s screen door blowing in the wind is the only proof that he was ever even there.


End file.
